When Winter Met Spring
by SierraLaufeyson
Summary: She was just an ordinary nurse, working the front in WWII when one of her patients swept her off her feet, and it could only be described as what she thought love felt like. When she was chosen for a top secret experiement things went terribly wrong and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s only choice was to sedate her, for thirty years, against her will. But what happens when the past resurfaces?
1. Chapter 1

_"Sergeant Barnes." The scruffy brunette stood when I called his name, quite frankly he looked like hell, though it was apparent under the scrapes and small cuts he was quite attractive. A strong jaw and soft blue eyes; quickly I stopped my gawking gaze and smoothed down the front of the white nurses' smock that was a part of the uniform of my profession, even when we were less than fifty miles from the front line. I pointed at the makeshift medical cot, the influx of released P.O.W.'s had our supplies severely strained, and space limited, my very own tent had to be momentarily converted to house patients._

_"Could you please take your shirt off for me?" I asked quietly and slipped out of the tent to gather the needed supplies, I pushed the canvas flap away and walked back in while his back was turned towards me. Setting down the rubbing alcohol, antibiotic salve and bandages, I turned raking my fingers through the frazzled curls of coppery brown hair that had fallen from the once neat bun. Drenching a cloth with antiseptic, I tried my best to smile, even though the day had already taken it's toll, he was my last patient._

_"This is going to sting." I bluntly stated, looking at the large cut on his cheek._

_"I think I've been through worse." He fought to smile, even though his jaw clenched when the rag was pressed to the broken skin._

_"So soldier, what do they call you?" I questioned, dabbing away the blood to see that the cut wasn't nearly as bad as it had looked._

_"Bucky." He stated quietly, with humility, a trait that I had forgotten could exist in men after dealing with soldiers day in and day out, that even with blood spattered across their face and uniforms, felt as if they could have any woman they wanted. "And your name?"_

_I pointed to the name tag on the once crisp white uniform but was stained with dirt, grim and splotches of blood, in bold black letters was my name. Samantha Spring Waters. "But everyone calls me Sam or Sammie."_

_"Waters!" I sat the supplies aside, motioning for Bucky to remain seated and poked my head out of the tent, the doctor was approaching my station. "I have a patient right now, sir."_

_"I know; Captain Rogers was seeking admittance to visit Sergeant Barnes." He pushed his wirily framed glasses back onto the bride of his nose and shooed me back to my tent to continue working._

_"They cleaned up nicely, though this one will need stitches, and to be closely monitored for infection." Carefully I threaded the sutural needle and thread before heating the thin piece of metal for sterilization. "Brace yourself soldier." He inhaled, and gripping the metal frame of the cot until his knuckles were white. As quickly as I could I began stitching the laceration of his shoulder, but it must have been agonizingly slow to him. My brows remained knitted in concentration, unbeknownst that Steven G. Rogers had slipped into my makeshift treatment room._

_Quietly I continued my ministrations, pausing only to push my hair back where it was falling in my eyes. With one last push of the needle I knotted of the thread and snipped away the excess. "I just have to dress the sutures and you'll be all done ." I turned on heel, the tray of used supplies dropping to the ground and nearly screamed in shock, hand flying to my heart, which was beating rapidly. "I'm really sorry ma'am, I didn't mean to scare you." The mirthful laughter of Bucky echoed off the course fabric of the tent. Soft blue eyes were laced with apologies as he extended his hand. "Steve Rogers."_

_"Samantha Waters." I smiled, steadying myself and recollected my train of thoughts, gathering the salve and bandages. Vaguely I listened to the small conversation between the two, who were apparently friends. "How are you feeling Bucky?"_

_"I've been better; but thankfully my nurse has been an absolute doll." I turned my head from the small table back to my patient, he smile was sincerely heartwarming and genuine and I couldn't help but smile back and subsequently I was rewarded with a large smile from Captain America himself as well._

_"Keep an eye on those stitches Bucky, if you don't they could get infected and I'd hate to have to amputate your left arm." Carefully I dappled the salve over the black threads and gently laid a protective gauze over the area before wrapping it with medical tape._

_"I think I'd be willing to lose my arm if it means I get to see you again." He joked; and I shook my head, chuckling with him, I couldn't have asked fora better way to end my work day. "Well I don't think that'll be necessary, you're my last patient for today."_

_"Then meet me at the tavern. Eight o'clock." He flashed a grin my way and was gone, and so was Steve. I didn't know why my stomach felt like it was doing flips, or why I couldn't wipe the smile from my face as I reverted the tent back to my sleep quarters. He was certainly charming, not forceful, but I knew in my profession I couldn't get attached to anyone, especially during wartime._

_"Agent Waters?" Peggy poked her head through the opening, I stood fretting with my damp hair._

_"Yes, Agent Carter?"_

_"I should inform you that your credentials have gained you a spot in Project Forever. Howard and I would like to speak to you about it in due time. That is all, carry on, Agent." Alas I gave up the struggle and pulled my hair back and to the side plaiting it in a messy braid and slipped on the simple black pumps that contrasted with the baby blue material of the flowy dress that I had, the only one I had on the theatre front._

_The small tavern was dimly lit, smoke hung in the air as the calls for more rounds drowned out the pianist, I pushed my way through the cat calls and crude comments to find the edge of the bar, where I motioned the bartender over. "I'll have a pint of the lager." He nodded and grabbed a frosty mug when a voice at my side caught my attention._

_"And I half expected you to order wine." Bucky stated, throwing back a shot of whiskey. He had cleaned up, but still looked like hell, but even so I couldn't help but smile._

_"What? You think a lady can't drink?" He shrugged his shoulders and ordered another shot as the pint of beer was slid down the splintering surface and into my hand; his shot quickly following._

_"To victory?" I chanted, raising my glass to his with a clink before downing a good sized swig of the amber colored drink._

_"To victory." Bucky grinned, downing the shot and slamming the small glass on the bar. _  
-

Startled and on the verge of tears I bolted awake and checked the time on my cell phone. 5:49 a.m. Pinching the bridge of my nose and rubbing my temples in an attempt to sooth the throbbing pain inside my head, but it didn't work. Nothing worked. And my memories ate away at me. My skin was dampened from sweat, but my body shivered. Shaking my head I placed my feet on the floor and stumbled over to the bathroom, turning on the cold water, not even bothering to add any hot, and I let the cool water flow over my skin, hoping that something would stop these memories from coming back, and maybe I could forget the way he smiled at me, the way he laughed, that these things to flow down the drain and never return, but I had been alive for ninety-five years and things weren't forgotten so easily.

The routine was just that, routine, and methodically I turned off the water and wrapped a thick towel around me and braced my hands on the countertop, reluctantly I raised my head to see the dark circles that sounded my eyes that foundation would conceal, the lifeless and dulling brown hair that would remain tucked away in a braid; and no one would every know who I really was; no one would be able to tell that my thoughts and memories tore at me nearly every night. I would appear just fine, and that's how I would act.

_What have you done to me Bucky?_


	2. Chapter 2

"Sammie!"

"How many times do I have to tell you it's Delilah now Steve?" I scolded, snatching one of the folders he picked up off the floor of my office before he had a chance to flip through the files, which were on him and Bucky.

"I know, but' you're still Samantha Waters to me, always will be; besides no one else is around to hear." I sighed, and paced around the small office, stacking folders and collecting the small sticky notes of information for the exhibit I was working on at the museum. The Captain America exhibit to be more specific, which was already open but new information was always needed for additions. "You know S.H.I.E. not the same without you..." He continued, leaning casually against the closed door, arms crossed.

"And you know that I resigned to get away from all that bullshit." I cut him off midsentence, nothing dealing with S.H.I.E.L.D sat right with me anymore.

"You were one of the best they say; Fury still talks about you ya know?" I had resigned from the organization that I helped found, the one that I risked my life for a year before the alien invasion of New York, and if it wasn't for being labeled unstable I probably would have been fighting by their side. Fury rarely contacted me and I made no move to contact him, though I knew I would always be tracked, or as they called it monitored on the potential threat list, because they didn't know enough about me.

"What does he say Steve? That I was one hell of a shot? That I was the best killer they've ever had? That they didn't mind putting me in cryostasis for nearly thirty years after they noticed their newest prized experiment turned out to be a freak accident?" I knew my voice was on edge, that the anger swelling inside of me was leading to something I had to fight to control.

"I was frozen too you know?" He added, mainly for amusement than anything else, but it wasn't helping. "That's not the point Steve; you sacrificed yourself to save the world and by sheer luck Howard found you; I didn't have a choice. It was either go without a fight or have a bullet put in the back of my head, hell they didn't even know if that would kill me." My head spun, and my hands began shaking, the folders slipping out of my hands and onto the cluttered desk, where my hands rested to brace myself, or else I would have slumped to the ground.

"Sammie, are you alright? I mean are you well?" The stray tears forming in my eyes went unnoticed to myself and I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the world, to retreat to my minds safe haven.

"I'm perfectly fine Steve, I sleep until the nightmares won't let me and then I carry on; and I try like hell to forget." It came out harsher than I intended but he understood, Steve was the only person who had the slightest idea what I was feeling, what I had been through.

"I mean your abilities?" He asked softly, I opened my eyes to see the folders beginning to float in the air, the pens and pencils following, slowly I breathed out and they returned to their original place.

"Most of the time I can control it; other times it just happens." I whispered, wiping away the dampness from my eyes. "Why did you come today anyways?"

"I wanted to to see two of my best friends, that too much to ask? Nat and I have a mission in the Indian Ocean so I won't be around as much in the coming days." I nodded; nothing I hadn't done before; a routine and relatively generic mission, but it would be strange not seeing Steve on nearly a daily basis.

"How's Peggy?" I asked softly, knowing that I hadn't went to see her in ages. The last time I saw her she didn't remember me, I knew it was part of her condition, and it could have just been an episode, but I couldn't stick it out. I couldn't bare to see her like that when the only Peggy I knew was strong, independent, the polar opposite of the frail woman who was bed ridden. "She has her good days, and ones that are tougher; she still talks about you though. And how she protested what they did to you."

"Look Steve, I really need to get this sorted before I leave today. But there's a new picture of him in the exhibit if you want to run through." I smiled weakly and tossed the plain navy baseball cap in his direction, not much of a cover but it would work. "See ya later Cap." He snapped to attention and gave a sloppy salute before putting on the hat. "Roger that Agent Waters." I shooed him out if my office door and began sorting through the numerous historical records.

By lunch all the documents, ranging from newspaper articles to released military records, were sorted, chronologically, the first stack having to deal with the Howling Commandos as a whole group and the second completed stack dealth solely with the Captain himself. I moved through the papers bored, each file looking exactly like the last, the dates merging together until I couldn't tale months from days and weeks from years. I tossed aside the next sorted folder and grabbed the second to last one, but stopped when I saw a small slip of paper sticking out the bottom folder.

Tugging the corner out I was met not with a piece of paper, or some odd note, but a black and white picture of Bucky, just before I had treated him for the first time. Sighing I pulled the file to me, keeping the photograph propped up on the keyboard due to the lack of decorations in my office, but it seemed I would have to get one, because keeping a picture of Bucky would surely help me in my quest to forget. The dated papers were more recent, accounts of assassinations, rebellions, revolutions, nothing to do with my exhibit. I couldn't help but wonder why Bucky's picture was in that file, until I flipped to the last document, clippings of newspapers headlines were glued down and the ink was dulled by age.

Mysterious man is thought to be connected to a number of political assassinations. Is he a ghost? Eyewitnesses say they spotted a man with a metal arm. The Winter Soldier strikes again. My breath caught in my throat as I continued to read the reports, the leaked HYDRA files, I searched through for anything and everything relating to this Winter Soldier until my eyes went cross from concentration, until finally I could do nothing more but stare blankly ahead at the heavy wooden door.

The workday was nearly over but per usual I locked my office door ten minutes early and walked through the exhibit that was my masterpiece, it proved to be a great help that I was alive and around for most of the events listed out, but the one place I actively avoided and could never bring myself to look at was the large glass wall with etched writing and a large picture of Bucky, and today was no different. I lowered my head and quickly walked from the exhibit to the staff parking lot.

I stood at the car door? Fishing for my keys in the large bag that seemed to somehow transform into a black hole and consume the one thing I was looking for, finally I caught the jingling noise and grabbed the ring, pulled it out. But the thin fishing twine like wire tied to the handle didn't go unnoticed as I moved to unlock the door, instead I followed the thine line to the undercarriage of the old '64 Mustang, where the basic contraption of a homemade grenade was taped. Open the door and the pin was pulled and there wouldn't be a chance to walk away.

I groaned and slammed my fist against the window, inadvertently cracking the glass. The internal panic could be saved for later, but for right now I had to find a to get home, but I couldn't risk going back to my apartment so I took the subway to the next logical place, Steve's apartment. I knew he wouldn't be there but that didn't stop me from slipping through the kitchen window. Through the thought out plans and multiple safety procedures that he insisted we have; I always had an extra set of clothes and by my insistentance there was also a closet full of arms and munitions, ripe for the picking in case of these situations.

The fact of the matter was they had found me after years of peaceful living, and now I had two choices, stick out and hope for the best or I could do what S.H.I.E.L.D always taught, change your appearance, identity and run. But I was tired of running from an organization that people believed to be gone; the red painted symbol on the makeshift bomb said everything. I had to find a way to let Steve know, to let Fury know, to let the world know; HYDRA was back, if they ever really left.


	3. Chapter 3

"Nick, you have to believe me on this!" I nearly shouted, the short conversation was fruitless in convincing him that something was up in the world, and it was not sitting well with me no matter how much I tried to shrug it off and move on.

"Samantha, what you're saying makes no sense-." The line went dead and out of frustration I threw the phone into the Potomac River, looking directly at the Triskelion, knowing that HYRDA, or even S.H.I.E.L.D could have been tracking my location. Tightening the strap of the duffel bag I clambered my way through the masses of rush hour traffic and pedestrians until I stopped at a hotel on the outskirts of D.C. the many proud monuments vaguely in view from the small window.

Leaned back on the bed I disassembled and reassembled my favorite pistol, a Smith & Wesson M&P Compact Forty Caliber, lightweight for the most part and specially designed to fit in my hand for maximum control and reaction speed. It was my go to weapon, my abilities, if you will, are my last resort. For the simple fact that I cannot fully control them, neither S.H.I.E.L.D nor I know the extent of my capabilities beyond the dramatic slowing (or even stopping all together) of aging. The small red numbers on the clock read 12:01 a.m, another sleepless night, another night spent paranoid for my safety, afraid even. Solemnly I stopped fidgeting with the parts and pieced the pistol back together one last time, setting it aside and loading the multiple clips with ammunition. Some people ask questions and then shoot, I was specifically trained to shoot first, disable not kill, and then ask questions; but too often those orders ended with assassinations.

Slipping a loaded clip into the butt of the gun, I cocked it to fire and flipped the safety on, placing it under one of the pillows. Somehow I managed to fall into sleep without jerking awake after hearing every little sound, the creak of the hallway boards, the cacophony of a mattress, it all was so loud and unnerving and I would always glance around the room, to make sure I was alone, and when I saw that no one stood in the shadows I eased the grip I had around the concealed pistol and fell back into the crisp white pillows and sheets that were so pure in comparison to me.

_The glass vials contained a mixture of my blood, recently drawn, and chemicals synthesized in the very room where I was strapped into the chair, but the odd thing was the glass test tubes, scalpels and needles levitated, hovering in midair as if a string hung from the ceiling and suspended the sharp and fragile objects. "What's happening to me?" I watched in fear as everything clattered to the ground, the glass shattering, the metallic pieces emitting a distinct clink when they collided with the boring and now tainted white tile floor. The serum had altered my genes, it had changed everything._

_"Sir, she's awake and unstable." The armed Agent entered the room, a stranger to my eyes, perhaps a new recruit, his hand nervously rested on the pistol housed in the holster belted to his uniform and a mask concealed his face, except for his eyes which were drained and lifeless but seemed to cut right through me with a familiar stare. "Stand down Agent Waters." He commanded with a pathetically weak voice._

_Drawing in a deep breath I calmed myself the best I could as the restraints were unbuckled from my wrists and ankles and cautiously I stood, half afraid that whatever was causing this would relapse and out of sheer panic I'd end up with a bullet in my skull. Breath Samantha, breath. The long winding corridors were like no S.H.I.E.L.D base layout that I had ever seen, and I had seen them all. Tightly clamped around my arm was a hand, gloved, and immovable, rather forcefully he pushed me forward into what simply looked like a concrete cubicle, plain, barren, except for the metal capsule positioned in the center of the room. A cryogenic tube, still in the prototype stage._

_A cold metal barrel pressed into the back of my head, the distinct smell of burnt acetone stung my nose, and the quiet click made it quite obvious that there was a bullet in the camber and a finger on the trigger, ready to pull back. Foot steps echoed through the long hallway from which we had walked, two people, male, one military...my analysis was cut short when I heard the footsteps behind me, the two figures stepped forward and turned._

_"Colonel Phillips?" My voice cracked in sheer disbelief, I was one of the good guys, why was I being treated like a criminal, like a time bomb just waiting to go off. "Agent Waters, I want to introduce a friend of mine, Alexander Pierce." His voice was cold and calculated, the man who stepped out was one that had a demented look twisted into his prematurely aged face. He looked more like on of my targets than someone to trust. I nodded in recognition, the grip on my arm tightening to pain._

_"What we're going to do will be best for the world, and for you, Waters." Pierce coolly stated and Colonel Phillips nodded leaving the room, the heavy door sealing shut behind his exit, leaving me. I gritted my teeth and looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon when the butt of the pistol collided with my shoulder, hitting the sensitive pressure point and against my will my knees gave way. "Now now, we don't want any accidents do we Ms. Waters?" I bit my cheek to prevent the string of insults and profanities that I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. I fucking hated S.H.I.E.L.D sometimes._

_"You're going to do as I say, if you don't my friend here will be happy to persuade you to cooperate." Still I remained silent, anger seeping its way into my veins. "Fuck you." I spat. The steel-toed boot slammed into my rib cage, my body lurching forward with the impact, still on my knees in the submissive and vulnerable position._

_"I was under the impression that you had manners Ms. Waters." Pierce snarked back, pushing the buttons on the cryogenic preservation tube, the gaseous and visible cold vapor seeped out of the bolted seems. Abruptly my hair was yanked back to the point where I was pulled to my feet and shoved ahead. "I really hate to be this blunt, but you're going to step inside on your own accord or I'll put a bullet in your brain."_

_Somewhat convincingly I stepped forward and the lid opened, the temperature of the air instantaneously dropped, harsh shivers crept down my spine as I was reminded of my situation when the barrel dug into back, pushing me forward. "Uniform off, or else it'll bind with your skin and I'd hate to tear off such pretty flesh."_

_"You're a sick bastard." A sardonic smile crept onto his face, and a low chuckle emanated from his chest. I had no other choice but to be compliant, quickly I shed the S.H.I.E.L.D uniform and blocked out the sheer hatred and embarrassment. The cold steel pressed to my bare back, I stood frigid not dating to move, the metal restraints held my ankles and wrists in place, his hands lingered a little too long for my liking as he did pulled a strap tightly across my chest and hips, and then the door slowly began to seal._

_"Why are you doing this?" I could barely find my voice as claustrophobia set in, it was suffocating. There was a permanent sneer on his face, he replied with too much ease for such a sick action._

_"The world isn't ready for people like you; but when it is, you'll help shape the century." The metal lid sealed, and a single blast of freezing chemicals shocked my body, the solitary glass viewing panel frost over until I could see nothing and within the following seconds I could feel nothing. The year was 1948._

My mind was screaming for me to wake up, but I couldn't, my body was locked into the dreaded position, legs locked together and my arms stuck to my sides. Wake up, my brain yelled over and over until I finally bolted upright, my chest heaving sporadically and on instinct I grabbed the pistol from under the pillow and stood, checking behind the curtains and those corners that remained shadowed and when I found nothing but myself and the memories and thoughts that easy away at me I groaned and sat on the edge of the bed, thumbing through the possible plans in my mind. Each one saying the same thing, run. Start over, but run.

The alarm clock went off at 5 a.m. but I was already awake and had been since 3:30, and packing the few articles that sat around the bathroom counter. The obnoxious buzzing was far too much for my sleep deprived mind I raised my hand and flicked my wrist sending the clock smashing against the wall. "Shit, I'm going to have to pay for that." Struggling to conceal the dead give away of my identity (which was the shade of coppery brown that was rarely found naturally). Concealed in a baseball cap that conveniently read Stark Industries was the strands of hair that usually hung in waves down my back.

In my hand was the room key and three hundred dollars; more than enough for the single night and broken clock. Much in my favor the man behind the counter didn't say a single word and gladly accepted the over-payment for my room and like that I was on my way, but what I failed to see time was the suspicious and armed men that were leaned against the building, that followed me, expertly blending into the crowd, and even with years of training and doing the same I failed to see it, to see them. At the perfect moment they caught me off guard as I began reaching for my beloved pistol that was concealed but I never had the chance to withdraw it before a needle was plunged into the side of my neck, and with a wail of pain they threw me into the back seat of a SUV, my body was paralyzed and gradually my vision faded to black.


	4. Chapter 4

"Ahh, I was beginning to wonder when you would wake Ms. Waters." The cold and unfriendly voice belonged to none other than Alexander Pierce, the sole reason I left S.H.I.E.L.D and a man I had grown to loathe entirely, even as age and disillusionment overtook him; my jaw clenched and teeth gritted in frustration as he stood over me, looking down. I had the intentions of slapping the delirious sneer from his face but my wrists would not move, nor would my feet, the hard-backed chair was standard for interrogations, but this far from an interrogation room, I drew in a sharp breath when I saw four concrete walls surrounding me, a concrete ceiling and floor, it was that cubicle, my heart was pounding in my chest so viciously I could her the blood rushing in my ears.

"Bastard." It was a growl, the arm guards stationed in the corners of the room tightened their grips on their weapons and stepped forward, inching closer. A heavy hand collided with my jaw, followed by the uncomfortable sting that undoubtedly meant a bruise was forming. "I see your tongue has not changed after all these years."

"Did you think it would?" I spat back, jerking my wrists until the leather strap began to cut painfully into my skin. "As usual your complete cooperation will make this go much smoother..."

"No, you can't do this to me; not again." The plea was useless; there was no escaping these people, only running, if I could even escape.

"You don't even know what I was going to propose; your going to help us capture Captain America." My heart nearly stopped, and then began frantically beating in my throat; all I could do was shake my head is protest. I couldn't hurt Steve; he was my best friend and at times my only friend who knew the truth and I couldn't lose that; I couldn't be the cause of that loss.

"Agent Waters, you're a danger to the population and to the world and therefore you must be eliminated, but your assistance is required for that." I channeled all my thoughts, all the rage and despair and focused it; the power surging through my veins was surreal and with a simple thought the force emitted from my body slammed Pierce and his personal monkeys straight into the wall. "That was not a wise decision." He chided, and then turned to one of the armed guards; "Call in the asset, program him to kill." Annoyed Pierce rubbed the back of his neck and gave a deathly glare in my direction before leaving the room, each guard following out except the one left the unbind my wrists and ankles. Slyly he slipped a small knife into my hand and gave a look that held the utmost and sincerest apologies before retreating and sealing the door behind him. He was silent, trained, a young man, perhaps even a boy still; and he had fallen into the clutches of a merciless organization that lived for destruction and chaos, nothing was ever entirely pure.

I weighed my options, the best bets to escape alive. Injuries could heal and at this time it would be a fight just to stay alive. The Asset as Pierce called him was a mystery, I didn't know what it was, or who it was; but my heart jumped, and my hands shook as I twirled the small knife between my fingers. Whatever or whoever came through that door I would kill then; I would leave a string of bodies in my wake; and then I would find Steve and make sure he was safe.

The latch opened and into the small cubicle a man was pushed, the asset. A mask that looked more like a muzzle concealed his face, only revealing a pair of striking blue eyes that sent shivers crawling down my spine; the stringy and long hair was clumped with grim. But lastly what made his appearance so offsetting was the metallic left arm that made his stance and look all the more menacing. For minutes we just stood there, the floor space between us, sizing each other up and tearing each other down with nothing but our eyes. The silver fingers twitched in anticipation and his shoulders squared off; and for a moment the look he gave said 'you're not even worth it.' And at that I advanced, I was many things but weak was not one of them.

I calmed myself and went to work; over forty years of training aiding me, but it wasn't nearly enough. I jumped, wrapping my thighs around neck to pivot in an attempt to knock his center of balance but the attempt failed pathetically when he pulled my leg and tossed me into the wall as if I weighed nothing at all. The impact left the coppery tinge of blood in my mouth as I pulled myself to my feet and withdrew the small blade, and he did the same, twirling it between his fingers with just as much experience if not more.

Somewhere deep inside I knew I would have to resort to my abilities, but I hated to use them. I looked up to see his eyes studying me, intently watching and processing every move. I breathed in and marched forward, the side jab he delivered was blocked when I raised my hand and threw myself into his torso and with as much strength as I could muster I plunged the blade into one of the joints of his metal appendage. A series of sparks flew from the point of the puncture, but writhing seconds his arm had re-calibrated to full capacity and I found the inhumanly strong fingers pressing into my neck. My feet dangled and kicked in air for any thing they could find purchase on to alleviate the choke hold. I strained to free myself, writhing in his firm grip, scratching my fingers against the cool surface of his forearm, stretching out in attemptes to wrap my fingers around his neck as well.

While I didn't find his neck, I did feel the transition where the mask stopped and met the surprising soft skin of his cheek; he must have sensed what I was trying to do and the grip tightened, further depriving my brain of oxygen. I dug my fingers into his cheek, hard enough to cause the grip on my neck to slacken momentarily, but the recovery was nearly instantaneous and this time he moved so one hand was wrapped in my hair, the other holding a knife to my neck and I hand my hand wedged between skin and mask. I cringed but felt the power rising within my veins, I blinked and he was sent to the wall opposite of me, in my hand was the mask.

"Bucky?" I stuttered out, tears stinging my eyes; it had to be him, the jawline, though now covered with scruff was one in a million, and those eyes, the baby blues that won my heart over, but now they were cold and harsh. Confusion flashed across his face and he only continued to advanced towards me, sheer determination in his eyes, but there was no sense of identity, no sense of humanity, no sense of life, no memories. The way he looked at me resembled a machine, a finely tuned and deadly machine. "Bucky it's me, Sammie." My back was flush against the concrete wall, I couldn't fight him, I couldn't fight him anymore, but I couldn't stay here, not like this.

The grainy screeching of his arm was enough to make a cringe. In his moments of shock I had recovered one of the knives that laid on the ground. And now we stood inches apart, heavy breathing and then I could see it a flash of recognition that was etched in the crystal blue eyes and his face though however brief it was, it was there. Reluctantly I curled my fingers around the hilt and dipped down, driving the blade into his hip and dashed for the door, pushing it open with my abilities to the point where it flew from the hinges and cracked.

I ran, full speed down the long corridor until I heard the gunshot ring out in the silence behind me and then the piercing and excruciating pain as it tore through the muscle and flesh above my collarbone. My left arm fell limp but still I pressed on, dashing for the end of the hall, I didn't dare look back. Then the silence was penetrated again and I felt the material of my jeans and skin on my thigh rip open, a warm fluid that was undoubtedly blood trickling down my leg. Gritting my teeth I bolted around the corner, cutting through laboratories anything to put distance between the two of us, control over my abilities was slowly slipping away, against my doing objects would begin to levitate as I ran past them only to clatter to the ground seconds later. Somehow I managed to break through to the lobby of building; and within seconds I was on the streets, the midday sun blinding.

Two blocks away from the museum, 9th street, the basement of the Department of Justice building, any other time I would have laughed because of the sheer irony but I didn't have time for that. I cleared my head and focused on making it to Constitution Avenue. I walked as steadily as possible, constantly checking over my shoulder in the least noticeable way, but the bloodstains on my jeans and hair were a dead give away. No one was in pursuit and my calm demeanor left and then I was running through the crowded streets cursing under my breath at the people in my way, knocking into random people who in turn yelled at me, each jarring movement causing fresh blood to ooze from the bullet wounds.

The front doors of the American History museum remained opened, families filed in and scattered about the exhibits, most were naturally drawn to the Captain America one. I flashed Alex Hopper- one of the security guards on duty- a weak smile as I passed around the metal detectors, but stopped when he grabbed hold of my arm. "Delilah? What happened?" Internally I groaned, my cover was blown, and if I had any chance at returning to attempt a normal life here in the museum it was gone.

"I need your help anyways, come on and I'll tell you." I pushed my way through the people, and rounded the corner to my see my office door, I fumbled with the knob and when the door opened I nearly collapsed, but Alex steadied my waist and pushed me back into a chair, quietly shutting the door behind him and flicking on the lights. "What the hell Delilah? You don't show up for two days and then when you do you're fucking shot."

"First things first, my name isn't Delilah; it's Samantha, most people call me Sammie. Second of all I really need you to find a first aid kit with tweezers and a suture." Alex glared in my direction as my breaths started to come in short heaves and painful gasps, but he left and stupidly I reached over to dig in one of the cluttered desk drawers until I found the small shot, I jabbed my thigh with the tetanus injection, tossing the empty vial aside and not long afterwards Alex popped into the office with the needed materials.

With much difficulty I pulled the leather jacket away and tugged my shirt off, so I was in nothing but a camisole. "Look Alex, I need you to use those tweezers and feel around in this wound, pull out the slug." Melodramatically I pushed the files and papers from my desk and laid back, his kind brown eyes were being pushed to the limit as he shakily took the tweezers and moved closer to the wound. "Who are you?" He asked, and for the distraction from the probing tweezers I was thankful.

"Agent Samantha Water, or was, I left S.H.I.E.L.D for reasons I'd rather remain unsaid but an organization that many believe to not exist anymore found me and that would explain my current posit-ugghhhhahhhhhh." I silenced the scream by biting down on my lip was the bullet was ripped from the wound, I sat up and turned to the mirror looking over the surprisingly small hole. "Heat the needle for me."

I hissed at the sting of the alcohol but it was a necessity, and pointedly Alex heated the needle with a small lighter. "You can't be serious about stitching yourself up." He blankly stared as I took the needle and began pressing it into my skin, over and over.

"I was a nurse during WWII; I think I am more than qualified to stitch my own wound now hold the damn mirror still." With ample concentration the gunshot was sealed and a thick white gauze covered the area, to my leg I simply drenched the fabric and broken skin with alcohol, and slipped back to my feet and over to the filing cabinet, where I pulled out a file that I dreaded, a file that should have been in the exhibit, but I had used my own discretion. The file was on me. Sadly I smiled and handed it to Alex. "Everything about me is in here, I'm trusting you not to do anything stupid with this information because if you do I will not hesitate to kill you, but I really have to get out of this town before they find me again."

I slipped out the storage entrance and moved to the main streets, the newspaper stands broadcasted that Captain America, was a traitor and dangerous, that I shrugged off because I knew it to not be true, but the second headline shocked me to the point where I stopped and picked up the black and white print. "Nick Fury Confirmed to be Dead after Mysterious Assassination." That meant I had lost yet another person that I knew I could trust, well partly trust. I had to find Steve and warn him about Bucky; but could I really just leave Bucky there, with HYRDA? The answer was yes, I could. I had no other choice but to find Steve because my Bucky was lost right now. So I went to the only place I could think to go, Steve's apartment.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve's apartment was, much to my dismay, empty; I threw myself down onto the sofa and stated blankly at the ceiling. What had just happened today? Quickly I ran back through the events in my head, HYDRA had, of course, captured and tried to kill me using the asset; Bucky. What had they done to him? By god, he didn't even look human. The silent tears slipping down my bruised cheek went entirely unnoticed until the saline droplet hit the backside of my hand, only then did I wipe away the dampness. He looked right at me, and he didn't even act like he knew me.

I trudged into the bathroom and looked at the reflection in the mirror, and who I say didn't even resemble me, it resembled who I was, but not who I am now. I touched the growing purple marks on my neck and winced at the soreness, and stripping out of my shirt I saw the angry marks and bruises that littered the skin of my back. The black clump of stitches at my collarbone would scar, and so would the patch of broken skin on my thigh, but I would survive, the bruises would take weeks, and I would be sore for what I knew would feel like eternity. I plundered around until I found an old and oversized shirt hiding in the back of the spare closest where I kept a few of my belongings and slipped it over my head. Where are you Steve? God, I hope you're safe. For hours I stayed awake, checking the doors and windows, the spots that were concealed in darkness, and then I sat on the small couch and pulled the throw blanket around my shoulders like a frightened child.

_"Bucky! Stop, please, please don't do this Bucky!" I cried aloud, no longer having the will to fight as the cold barrel of the SIG-Saur P226 pistol pressed into my stomach, a bullet waiting in the chamber to be fired, the Soviet era slug would shoot clean through with no rifling. His arm wrapped around my throat, threatening the very air supply that kept me alive. That single second of recognition was gone, and replaced with cold determination; those crystal blue eyes were completely and utterly devoid of life. I couldn't stop the tears that pricked at the corners of my eyes, each breath of air was beginning to burn my lungs more than the last and my brain screamed at me._

_"Don't do this Bucky, you can fight it. You're stronger than this Bucky." His jaw clenched and strands a lifeless and dull brown hair blew in front of his face. He was hesitating, I knew that much, something was hindering him. I writhed out of discomfort, not necessarily fighting, but still my hands dug into the warm skin that was left exposed under the sleeve of his uniform; but the metal hand and arm held tightly to the gun. Finger on the trigger, but all Bucky could do was stand there, torn, confused, helpless; emotions flashed across his face, his eyes searching his surroundings. But I knew he had a mission and he lived to complete his mission, and right now it was me._

_"I can't do it...I can't do it." He mumbled under his breath breaking my weak gaze and looking to the asphalt. I forced a small smile and the strangling grip on my throat slackened until my feet hit the ground once more. My lungs burned and my head was still foggy, the only thing I could do was slump against him. For a moment it was almost comforting, but then the harsh reminder of the gun that was still firmly pressed into my stomach grounded my thoughts. The fearful look in his eyes and the gentle caress of my neck confirmed my suspicions that the skin was more than likely beginning to discolor in the shape of fingerprints. It was a small motion, nearly undetectable, but I would relish in that. But then everything went terribly wrong, and everything happened so quickly, the alert like beeping noise that came from within the control panel of his metallic arm, to the firing of the gun that permeated the deathly silence. Once. Twice. Three times. It happened entirely too fast but at the same time everything slowed before me._

_My eyes grew wide; there wasn't any pain at first, just shock. The pain came later, when I fell back to the asphalt, clutching at the blooming stain of red that was forming over my stomach, staining the light blue shirt that could match the color of the periwinkle sky. And then Bucky was on his knees beside me, his face void of emotion once more as he stared helplessly down me. I reached for his hand and he didn't not resist, squeezing tightly, as tightly as I could muster. My back arched up off the pavement as I coughed, my own blood beginning to choke me._

In a panic I jolted up on the small sofa, my breathing was heavy and shivers crept down my back, the dream, it had felt so real and it terrified me, because it had the possibility of becoming reality. And those were the absolute worse. The soft morning sun rays peaked through the pale and unfashionable curtains that hung in front of the of the solitary window in the small living room, carefully I stood and inspected the rooms to find the apartment empty, which was exactly how I wanted it to be. Over and over I planned out what I was going to do, creating numerous scenarios and playing them out in my head, each one was saying the same thing over and over, no matter if I stayed or picked up, changed my identity and moved, all the plans told me that somehow, someway I had to get Bucky, I had to help him, my conscience wouldn't let me leave him behind.

Hesitantly, I walked down the sidewalk, blending in with the pedestrians to the best of my ability. My hair was brushed, loose waves hanging, framing my face and most importantly concealing the bruises on my neck. Professional wear was back, a tailored pencil skirt to match the flowing off-white chiffon blouse that hid the stitches and bruises; but my own safety was not forgotten. I had lost my trusty pistol but strapped to my thigh were two throwing daggers and two widow bites that Natasha had traded in turn for a push dagger, that deal felt like such a long time ago.

Alex stood at doors, checking the work tag of each of the employees as they filed in the museum and I fell into place. Presenting the photo I.D badge, I made sure I was the last to go through security and snagged him away to my office. "I'm not running anymore but I'm a threat to the security and safety around here, I know it would be asking a lot of you but you're the only one that knows the truth and works here..." He raised his hand dismissively and stopped me mid sentence as we continued walking in the direction of my office. "If you want me to stick around for a while I will; I protect, that's my job description."

"Alex." I stopped, tugging his sleeve as we passed the Captain America exhibit, caution tape roped off the entrance. The exhibit was closed? But why? "Why is my exhibit closed?" I half demanded, a small amount of anger surging within that after five years laboring over the documents and artifacts it just randomly decided to close.

"Samantha," He turned and looked at my questioningly, his tone of voice asking permission to use my real name, I nodded in approval and stepped over the ropes and bright yellow tape. "While you were missing someone came in after hours and took the Captain's uniform."

I skimmed the room and saw the now naked mannequin standing at the forefront of the unifroms of the other Howling Commandos. My heart clenched in panic and absentmindedly I muttered Steve's name under my voice, mentally cursing at him for not finding me, I could help, I could be of use; I could've told him about Bucky.

"Wait? Steve? As in Steve Rogers?" Alex dumbly questioned raking his hand through the short brown hair. I shook off the question to which he had to have known the answer and hurriedly I rushed into my office, the security guard following until the door clicked shut. I groaned and fell into my desk chair but within seconds I had straightened my back up to lessen the ache in my side, but I didn't remember seeing a bruise there. The sharp intake of air and how my fingers gripped at the wooden desk until the knuckles turned a ghostly white didn't go unnoticed. "Samantha, stand up." I complied, and Alex pressed his hand to my side, feeling over my ribcage until I gripped his hand and pried it away from my body.

"It's my ribs." I wheezed out, and for the love of all things holy I prayed they weren't broken, just bruised, even fractured, but not broken. "It doesn't feel broken, and if it was I don't think you would be walking straight." He commented, helping me back into the chair before taking the guest one on the opposite side. I forced a small smile and leant my head back against the headrest, time didn't drag by as I had expected it to, I felt somewhat safer knowing I had someone who knew the truth and was willing to protect me, and to ease away the afternoon he became curious about the things in my file, which much to my surprise he had returned to it's place in the filing cabinet.

The bleak analog clock read 5:30 p.m, closing time, Alex hustled to his guard station and slowly I truged through the musuem towards the exit but stopped when I saw the long figure in the closed exhibit. Hesitantly I stepped over the ropes once more and watching from a distance as the person stared at the memorial for Bucky, the one thing I refrained from passing by and looking at, in fact I couldn't bare to write the article, I just passed the information along.

"Sir, the musuem is closing, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." He didn't acknowledge my approaching footsteps nor did he seem responsive to my announcement that he needed to leave. He didn't even turn but in a voice that shattered my heart he finally spoke, and I knew who it was.

"How much do you know about him?" He continued to stare at the memorial that claimed he had died, maybe it was right; the Bucky Steve and I knew May have died, and all that was left was his body. I stepped closer to him, ignoring the fact that last time we were in this close proximity I ended up with a bullet hole in shoulder. I thought fondly of the times Bucky and I had spent together, though the number was few they were amazing times that left me enchanted with him.

"Bucky was a quality fella, he was willing to sacrifice himself for his best friend, not many people would do that, he had a terrible sense of humor and used to joke about losing his arm..." That's when I cut myself off, I had overstepped a dangerous line, the metal screech came as his hand balled into a tight fist, partially afraid I quickly stepped back. He doesn't remember you Samamtha. "I know you're him, I also know that right now there's a lot of people looking for you, and me; frankly that's a terrible disguise, and I have a feeling the same people are after us right now..." I wondered off, rambling on, hoping that Bucky would turn, but I didn't feel right calling him that anymore, or at least not yet. The lights of the exhibit began dimming, and slowly I turned to leave, leaving Bucky seeing that he wasn't trying to kill anyone, at the moment.

"Wait," I stopped dead in my tracks and turned around once more, my fingers itching to feel the weight of one if my daggers in my hand. "I've heard your voice before." He mumbled, tucking his hands in his pockets, wincing slightly in discomfort as blue eyes looked over my face, scanning for a possible threat more than likely.

"Samantha are you okay?" I heard Alex call from the opening arch, I gave a thumbs up from behind on of the information walls. "Yeah, I'm fine; just looking at the past." His footsteps grew more distant and that left Bucky and I, staring at each other in a way that was eerily similar to how we looked out each in that small cubicle that forever haunted me.

"If I help you out, just the basics, food, shelter, clothes; do you promise that you won't kill me?" My brain screamed at my that this was illogical, especially after the dream I had woken up from, but Bucky was here, and he wasn't trying to kill me. And them my brain told me that Steve would be over delighted to here about him. I awaited his response, but words didn't form, he turned and looked at the dimming picture of himself, tracing over his name engraved into the thick glass of the display and then he turned to look at me once again and he nodded.


	6. Chapter 6

Finally I had the nerve to return to my apartment, partially because of Bucky, I didn't expect him to protect me should we run into any threats, but I drew comfort from the fact that a fight would be more manageable with him on my side, or at least I thought he was on my side.

"Look; we're running from the same people now. I can't trust S.H.I.E.L.D for the simple fact that they could be HYDRA operatives; and neither of us can afford to let them get a hold of us." I spoke for the sake of ending the unbearable silence that had grown between us; part of me was still torn to shreds that he didn't remember me, and for that fact he was like a stranger, a highly trained and deadly accurate assassin who had nearly killed me not even two days ago type of stranger. Still he remained silent; staring out of the small window of my apartments kitchen, cradling his right arm like a wounded pup.

I leaned against the counter and studied his small and jumpy movements, as if he didn't trust his surroundings (then again I didn't even completely trust the security of my own home, or my personal security with Bucky within five feet of me considering that he shot me). "Your shoulder is dislocated isn't it?" Quickly I took note of the way he rolled his shoulders, the contraction of pain rippling through his back, his hunched and dirtied figure breathing in slowly. "I can fix it."

He looked with uncertain and trying eyes, almost daring me to do something that he perceived to be a threat, hesitantly I took a step forward, and he took one back. I stopped my movement and reached under my professional style pencil skirt, unfastening the holster with two throwing knives and tossed it behind me, then proceeded to hold my hands up in surrender. "I'm unarmed, you can search me if you want, but I'm just trying to help." This time when I inched forward he just stood, apprehensively and continuously scanning his surroundings, and when I was close enough to stand in front of him he turned his attention to me, watching each movement with the cold and calculative intuition of a killer.

My breath was shaking as I raised my hand, pressing two fingers against the joint of his rotary cuff, and acromion, when he recoiled and batted my hand away my observation was complete and for the most part, suspicions confirmed. "Dislocated, possible tear in coracoacromial ligament, strained tendons, and definitely sprained; but nothing a little time won't heal." Bucky huffed, pursing his lips, before nodding at the substantial list of things wrong with his arm and shoulder, and that was just one part of him.

The kitchen table was quickly cluttered with medical supplies, the basic first aid kit, my WWII kit with sutures and compression bandages. My working attire had quickly been replaced by a pair of shorts and tank top, and now I had a shirtless, brainwashed, assassin sitting at my table, with me standing in front of him. "Umm, grab the table leg if hurts too much, but I have to get it popped back into place."

I gripped his bicep and placed one hand at the back of his shoulder blade, at first the pressure was gentle, just enough to prepare for the quick motion that would force the bone back into it's proper place, and with a sharp pull and push along with a sickening pop his shoulder was set. But what shocked me the most was the hand that had clamped down on my thigh, just below where the bullet had grazed and broken the skin, metallic fingers pressing into the skin, and for a moment I just looked down at the awkward position that we had managed to get ourselves into; and the entire thing stung, because I had done this before, over seventy years ago, but I remembered and he didn't.

Quickly I stumbled back, finding a large ace bandage to help suppress any swelling that could occur in his shoulder, and in a haste secured it around his chest and arm. "Why are you helping me?" Came a rough voice, so hushed though it could have easily been missed, my eyes flashed up from his chest and the bandage in my hands to his eyes.

"Because you deserve to be helped." I stated, and once again his jaw clamped just, no words coming from him as I brushed a dampened rag over the nicks and scraps that stretched across his torso and back. I stepped back and observed him once more, running my fingers through my hair, but instantly stopping him I felt the tug and pull of the stitches just above my clavicle, which were, admittedly, irritable and horribly inflamed, probably in the first stages of infection in all honestly, but then the phone rang, at first it was paranoia of whether to answer or not, but when the hospital's Caller ID flashed across the screen I picked it up.

"Samantha Waters?" The unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line questioned, but he didn't seem to be a threat by the distinct inflection and preconceived sympathy held in his voice.

"This is she." It was a curt and impatient reply as I turned to see Bucky looking down at his prosthetic arm.

"This is Sam Wilson, the Captain's in the hospital and you were the first on his contact list, but don't freak out; he's going to be fine, in fact he just went back to sleep a few minutes ago." He had a certain charm to his voice, something that made him seem very likable and trustworthy, almost like I could relate to him in a way.

"Umm I may not be able to drop by to visit but please keep me updated and tell him that I'm okay and thank you so much for calling." I was unaware of just how exhausted my voice sounded until that moment, but I bit my lips returning the phone to it's base and when I turned around Bucky was right in front of me, his hands clenched into fists as I was cornered between his body and the the kitchen counter tops.

"How do I know you're not just going to turn me in to S.H.I.E.L.D or HYDRA?"

"How do I know you're not going to slit my throat when I go to sleep tonight?" I quipped back, rasing my eyebrow, and once more he fell silent, lips pursed.

"I can think of one hundred different ways I could kill you right now, that's what I am, a killer. I could grab that knife on the table and slit your throat. I could snap your neck with one hand. I can kill you in ways that you hadn't dreamed off in your worst nightmares, ignite fears that you never knew you had. I could hide your body where nobody would ever find it. And I could do it before anyone could stop me." I laughed and raised my hand, flicking my wrist sending Bucky into the wall opposite of where I stood, though not hard enough to harm him (or my wall for that matter), and watched as his eyes widened.

"Try me. You may not want to trust me, but if there is one thing you can trust it's my absolute hatred for HYDRA. I'm not going to hurt you, and I hope that you won't kill me. You know HYDRA is searching for you, don't try to deny that, and they want to take me as well. Whether you like it or not Buck, we have a better chance of surviving if we stick together."

"What did you just call me?" Mentally I slapped myself, of course he didn't remember that I called him that sometimes, and it just slipped; but it was entirely too hard trying to act like we didn't have a history.

"Buck." I lowered my eyes, squeezing them shut to avoid the tears that were undoubtedly pricking them, trying to escape. "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, everyone called you Bucky, I would sometimes call you Buck though." And you would always call me Spring, but I didn't say that aloud, I simply said it in my head, and heard it in his voice.

"I think..." he trailed off, frowning, looking at the bandaged shoulder and few band aids scattered across his torso. I snapped my eyes back to his face. "I don't know how..." he trailed off again, letting out an exasperated sigh as he stepped closer to me, this time his demeanor not nearly as menacing.

"Are you trying to say thank you?" I ventured, trying as hard as I could not to sound patronizing.

"Yes," he breathed.

"You're welcome." I smiled.


End file.
